Cute

In childhood, we are called cute. Anything from the way we rub our eyes to the determination with which we work on a project, people give this backhanded complement. At what point does cute become an insult? At what point do we reject cuteness and accept a more severe life? It seems almost instinctual to despise these words at any age of which we have memory, but why? Why can't we accept what is essentially charm and attractiveness? What stops us from separating from the ridiculous expectation of gravity in all the throws of life? We all look at the fools and mock them for their whimsical attitude. Is it not them, in their cuteness, that allows them to be free?